


Can’t commit to anything (but a Crime)

by hyenateeth



Series: Official Affairs [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blood Kink, Consensual Violence, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Footnotes, Humor, Immortal Violence, Knifeplay, Masochism, Michael has a Vulva (Good Omens), Office Sex, Other, Sadism, She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Violent Sex, wound fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/pseuds/hyenateeth
Summary: Glowing red ashes from the cigarillo fell onto Beelzebub’s fingers as they set down the bottle. They didn’t seem to notice, but Michael did.“Waszz surpriszzed you called me,” Beelzebub continued, the alcohol definitely loosening their tongue, which suited Michael just fine. It was a perk of drinking with the enemy. “Didn’t take you for the type.”Michael arched her brows. “What type?”“Mmm.” Beelzebub stalled in answering. A sip and a drag. “The type to call the Prince of Hell out of nowhere because you want to fuck,” they settled on, smoke billowing out of their grin.-Archangel Michael has a bad day. Lord Beelzebub takes a trip to Heaven. A letter opener is misused.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Michael (Good Omens)
Series: Official Affairs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907995
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Can’t commit to anything (but a Crime)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for everything in the tags, also tobacco and alcohol use/drunk sex, and for a full spoilery warning list for the violence in this fic, jump down to the end notes! 
> 
> I went full feral with this, I don’t know what to say. A sequel to my last fic’s shenanigans.

It had been 122 days since the Apocalypse was meant to happen - and Michael had wanted to scream, just scream loudly, and wordlessly, for about 121 of them. Heaven was a wreck - not that Gabriel or anyone else would ever admit it. Angels were still angels and did not disobey, but there was no going back after something like that. You couldn’t just go back to work - but they did. And Michael wanted to scream.

Specifically she wanted to scream at Gabriel, but she didn’t. Instead she cleared her throat.

“So you’re… demoting me?” she asked stiffly, exerting palpable effort to keep herself calm. Gabriel grinned back at her, and Michael wanted so badly to punch him in his pearly teeth.

“No, Archangel Michael!” He said, like she was a child. “Don’t think of it as a _demotion_ , it’s just a _lateral move._ A change of scenery - and you hate desk work anyway!” 

Michael bit the inside of her cheek. “It literally is, though,” she couldn’t help snapping back. “A demotion.” She thought to force a smile at Gabriel after, but there was nothing pleasant about it.

“Michael,” placated Gabriel, gesturing with his hands. “Now you know, ever since the _incident_ , we haven’t had any eyes on Earth. Obviously it’s more important now than ever - and I thought what with your propensity for _field work_ it was a natural fit.”

Michael bit the inside of her cheek again so hard it bled - a wound she effortlessly miracled away.

“I just think,” she said slowly, taking immense effort to keep her voice measured and steady. “That my skills would be wasted on Earth. My role in Heaven-“

“Oh come now, Michael!” Gabriel interrupted her, shaking his head, before leaning into her conspiratorially, clapping a hand on her shoulder. He removed it again immediately when she tensed and shot the hand a withering glare. “We both know that you’re a warrior at the end of the day- and since we clearly aren’t having a war... Earth is where the real action is, Michael!”

_Miracle away the blood and smile don’t scream don't scream-_

Gabriel had had it out for her for a while. He had always hated how many ideas and opinions she had. He really hated that she was bold enough to actually deal with the enemy. Michael hadn’t been able to convince Gabriel to even let her establish some contact points in Hell until the late 1700s - though of course she had already been talking with Hell since 1631. It had mostly been letters then, ones that burned up 20 minutes after opening, but sometimes Michael slipped down to the edges of Hell and would covertly meet a demon or two. Gabriel thought it was dirty dealing - Michael thought it was being practical.

She had been right in the end, they did have to work with Hell, and she had been instrumental in the process. Which just made it worse of course. Gabriel hated it when people other than him were right.

Which was why now - four months after the Apocalypse Didn’t Happen - he was here assigning her to Earth duty. Like she wasn’t Archangel Fucking Michael, like she wasn’t meant to be in Heaven running things. How dare he get rid of her?1 She had been God’s greatest warrior - who was Gabriel to demote her?

But he was.

She was being demoted. She wanted to scream.

She should scream, or at least someone ought to. Here they all were, pretending like there were still rules, that the entire purpose of their existence hadn’t been made a mockery of. A traitor had walked through hellfire and lived to go back to Earth - and here they were pretending like everything was business as usual. Michael ought to scream, or punch Gabriel.

But as she miracled blood out of her mouth Michael remembered something - a sneer, the buzzing of flies, and _‘Heaven’s been getting to you haszzzn’t it?’_ \- and she regained enough composure to smile and force words through her teeth.

“Very well then. I suppose I should prepare for the assignment.”

Gabriel beamed. “I knew you would see it our way.”2

Michael managed to hold her smile until she turned away from Gabriel, hurrying back to her personal office, clenching and unclenching her fists as she went. When she reached it she miracled the door locked. Frustratingly, there was nothing easily breakable in her minimalist office - just a desk, a few chairs, a couch - all smooth and white and plain.

Michael’s fists were trembling as she pulled out her phone.

She shouldn’t.

She had been trying to forget her dalliance with Beelzebub. It had been impulsive, rash, and would ruin her if someone like Gabriel found out about it.

But she wanted so badly to do it again right now.

It was perverse, the way she kept thinking about Beelzebub. She had kept contacts with Hell, certainly, but she had never relished their company. Not that she had had any real direct contact with Beelzebub until about 122 days ago - though the elusive Prince of Hell had apparently been aware of Michael’s spying for centuries. She had gathered that from the Dukes and Counts of Hell that she spoke to; they all made it clear if Beelzebub didn’t approve, they wouldn't be talking to her.

It wasn’t until her main informant melted and the world didn’t end that Michael had even seen the demon up close since the First Great War - and their small frame contained such raw power that it shouldn’t have fascinated Michael, but it did. The Prince of Hell, leader of hordes of demons- small and spotted and slouching. Michael wanted some of their power, wanted to own it, conquer it. She couldn’t help it, she was made to be a soldier. To conquer Beelzebub, Satan’s right hand demon - it would be one of Michael’s greatest triumphs.

Surely, she rationalized, it could not be wrong for an angel to hurt a demon. Good had to triumph over evil, and what better way to gain advantage than to torture such a powerful demon? Even if the demon liked it? Well. Perhaps that complicated things.

Strangely, Beelzebub’s pleasure was what Michael really couldn’t keep out of her mind. Strange, because it was a strange pleasure, and strange because giving a demon pleasure should be the last thing on her mind. And yet it kept coming back to her, the way Beelzebub had moaned and whined under her hands, the look that had crossed their face as she throttled them, the way they had practically begged for Michael’s savagery. The pleasure was strange, and Michael had found a strange delight in the demon’s pathetic, bloody orgasm.

No, Michael shouldn’t call Beelzebub again. What would she say after all - _‘remember that time I told you I wanted to kill you and then I put my fingers inside you, want to do that again?’_ She was an angel - it wasn’t in her nature to be crude. And would Beelzebub even say yes?

The answer to that question gave her pause.

Beelzebub had liked it. _Just a little stress relief_ , they had called it. Well, Michael was pretty stressed right now.

She thumbed her phone apprehensively, going to settle in the white leather office chair, trying to steady her hands still shaking with repressed rage.

Earth. She was going to be going to Earth, ugly, boring, ineffable Earth. The thought of it spurned her on. Sneering, she pressed the numbers that had been promised to get her directly to Beelzebub’s personal line,3 holding it to her ear, taking care to steady herself.

It rung. Once, twice.

Then there was a click and a familiar voice was shouting in her ear, making her jump and pull the phone away from her ear slightly.

“For the laszzzt time, Sabnock, I do not control how quickly maintenanzze gets to your department and I don’t care how many dayszzz it’s been! It doeszz not change your deadlineszz and if your numberszz are late this quarter I will see that all your fingernailszzz are pulled off one by one! Now kindly stop calling before I loszzze my temper!” Beelzebub bellowed, voice distorted from static or flies or both.

Michael raised her eyebrows. “Bad time?” she asked calmly, unsure of what else to say.

“Wh- Michael?” The Prince of Hell sounded tired, voice rougher than normal, and clearly, taken off guard. “I waszzn’t expecting- what do you need thiszz time?”

“Why do you assume I need something?”

“Juszzt calling for a chat, are you? Very in character. If you don’t need anything you may hang up szzo I can return to my work.”

Michael hummed. “We ought to talk.” She said decisively. “Not over the phone. Come meet me.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

She hoped Beelzebub would get the message and agree easily, but instead she heard the demon snort.

“Yeszzz, I’ll just pop up to Heaven, no problemszzz there. I’ll just tell Gabriel I’m szzztopping by for tea. I’m sure he’ll love that.

Michael glowered at her neatly organized desk, mood instantly souring at his name. “Fuck Gabriel,” she said before she could stop herself, gripping her phone tightly. “I don’t care what he thinks. And I was thinking something a bit stronger than tea.”

The buzzing static over the phone sounded like a chuckle. “What’szz wrong Michael, trouble in paradiszze?”

“Very funny. Are you accepting my invitation or not, Lord Beelzebub?”

“Your invitation to riszzzk my neck for no reaszzon? Hmm. Szzztill don’t know why I should.”

There was something like teasing in the demon’s voice that made Michael’s blood rush. Surely Beelzebub knew why she was calling, but of course they couldn’t just easily obey. She clenched and unclenched her fist again before answering.

“Well if there’s one thing we have in common, Lord Beelzebub,” She said, trying to sound as angelic as possible. “Is that we both appreciate a little risk. And it sounds like you’ve been working hard. I know I have. You sound _stressed_. Perhaps some risk would be… cathartic.”

It was close as she could bring herself to stating her intentions.

There was a long silence on Beelzebub’s end that almost made Michael wonder if she was about to be rejected, but just when she was going to break it, the demon spoke.

“Well how do you proposzze I szzneak up there then?”

Michael did not let out a relieved breath because Michael did not need to breathe. But she did say, perhaps a touch eagerly, “Through the phone line. Now.”

“Now?”

“Don’t keep me waiting then.”

With that Michael tossed her shimmering phone onto her desk, pushing back in her chair and rolling it away from her desk. She had just enough time to quickly miracle her slacks into an impractically thin knee-length pencil skirt she wouldn’t normally ever wear, as well make a few adjustments to her corporeal form that she normally didn’t bother with.4

A second later the phone shook - and then it was spitting out particles that looked an awful lot like flies, and it spat out the black cloud until the flies looked an awful lot like Beelzebub, and then the Lord of the Flies themself was sitting on Michael’s desk, their legs dangling off of it.

Beelzebub- but a good bit cleaner. Their clothes did not look tattered, and they weren’t surrounded by their usual cloud of flies. Most noticeable was a lack of boils, and it was almost shocking to see the demon with such clean, unmarred skin. It made Michael wonder what it would look like if she marred it herself, breaking smooth skin.

She didn’t comment on any of that. She did say- “Nice hat.”

Beelzebub was wearing the stupidest stuffed fly hat Michael had ever seen. Michael hated it. She wanted to rip it off their head.

Beelzebub looked Michael up and down.

“Nice szzkirt,” they responded. “I believe I waszz promiszzed something szztronger than tea? Doeszzz your lot even drink alcohol?”

Michael crossed her hands on her lap. “It’s not against any rules, if you don’t overindulge, but most angel’s wouldn’t dare. Though most of them wouldn’t even know how to drink water. I have scotch.”5

“And you can actually get drunk off it?” Beelzebub wrinkled their nose. “I heard a rumor you can’t get drunk up here. It just doeszzzn’t work.”

Michael snorted. “I can assure you, that is not the case.” With a wave of her hand she miracled the bottle from its hiding place in the bottom of her drawer and onto the desk, along with two lowball tumblers. With another gesture the tumblers had scotch in them. “Now are you going to sit in a chair or not?”

Beelzebub shrugged, lazily pushing themself off the desk. “Szzuit yourself.” As Michael picked up her own drink, taking an indulgent sip and savoring the taste of peat smoke and heat on her tongue, she watched the demon grab a chair and drag it around the desk, slumping into it as they sat next to the angel. They moved slowly, stiffly, like humans did when they first woke up from sleep, seeming entirely out of place in the bright whiteness.

“You seem like you’ve been keeping busy. How has your side been handling things?” Michael asked as the demon picked up the glass next to them, sniffing it.

“Well,” drawled Beelzebub. “First there were the riotszzz but Satan szzzettled that down quick. Then he buried me alive for a couple monthszzz.” In the middle of their story Beelzebub put the tumbler to their lips and tipped it back, downing the entire pour of scotch in one swig. Then they continued. “But it’szzz calmed down szzince they dug me up.”

Michael raised her eyebrows, trying to absorb both the demon’s words and the careless way they didn’t even bother to taste the scotch. “Buried alive?”

“Punishment. Bosszzz had me tortured for a couple months.” The demon picked up the bottle to pour themselves some more. Michael picked her pace up a bit with her own drink. “Szzince everything got szzzo cocked up.”

Michael continued trying to process the demon’s story and the nonchalant way they told it. She had a vague idea of the power structure of Hell, which was not entirely dissimilar to Heaven’s but with a layer of dirt - and Beelzebub was a feared and respected leader. Michael had not imagined that something like that would happen, even in Hell. “But you’re the Prince of Hell!” she argued. “And it’s not like you were the traitor. ”

“It’szz all my responzzzibility though, isn’t it?” Beelzebub’s tone icy, with the tone of someone repeating what they have been told, glaring at the glass as they poured another drink. “All the demonszz being under me meanszz they’re all my responszzzibility. And exampleszzzz muszzt be made.”

“But being _buried_?”

“Szztandard torture, nothing special.” Beelzebub clunked the bottle back down carelessly hard onto Michael’s desk, and Michael couldn't help but glare at that. “Zzzat or a pit- but being buried is worse causzze you can’t move - and the maggotszzz.” The demon looked up from their glass, shooting a glare in Michael’s direction. “Oh stop with the horrified face. It’szz not even that bad.6 And we both know your szzzide iszzn’t any better.”

“We don’t torture our own-”

“No, you juszzt kick them out when they start aszzzking too many questionszz.” Beelzebub brought the glass to their lips again. Michael finished her own drink as Beelzebub finished their second, snapping her fingers to refill it. “Szzomeone had to be punished. Zzz right for it to be me. I’m in charge after all ”

Michael snorted, deciding not to push it further. Best not to question the barbarism of Hell. She didn’t like the mental image, but best not to linger on it.

She said instead: “Gabriel would never accept a punishment, unless God Herself was doling it out.” Michael had to stop herself from adding _‘maybe not even then’_. It would be heretical to suggest an angel could ever disobey Her will.

Beelzebub chuckled softly, picking up the bottle again. “Rather be buried alive again than deal with that prick.”

Michael hummed, continuing to eye the demon. She was looking for… something, she didn’t know what. Lingering paleness, shadowed eyes- any signs of the torture Beelzebub apparently endured, but if there were any, Michael did not know the demon well enough to recognize them. Then she made herself stop - she didn’t care, not really. Beelzebub was just a demon after all.

So she pushed those thoughts away, sipping her second drink. Then she said - “He’s demoting me. Gabriel.”

Beelzebub paused in their pour. “How do you demote an Archangel?”

“Sending me to Earth.”

“Fuck.” Beelzebub once again clunked the bottle back down gracelessly. “Trying to get rid of you, izz he?”

“Hmm.” Even though she had brought it up, Michael found she had nothing she wanted to say to the demon about Gabriel. And she couldn’t help herself. “Try actually tasting the scotch this time instead of chugging it, glutton.”

The demon snorted. “Szzznob.”

“It does taste good.”

The demon hummed and made perfect eye contact as, mockingly slow, they took a sip.

Michael watched Beelzebub’s throat move as they swallowed. “Would taszzte better with a smoke,” they concluded. “You smoke? Or would that zzzset off an alarm?”

Heaven was technically meant to be a non-smoking area - but the thing about Heaven was, Michael had designed most of its security and safety features, which meant they were largely under her control. “Not if I don’t want it to.” She said confidently, snapping her fingers and disabling the smoke detection. “They’re my alarms.”

Beelzebub grinned and fished in their pocket, pulling out a shoddy tin box, which they wrenched open, revealing a small stash of cigarillos. They held out the box - and it occurred to Michael that Beelzebub probably fancied this _tempting_ her. She decided that maybe she could allow that belief as she took one, taking a moment to smell the tobacco, musky and earthy. It would compliment the scotch, the demon wasn’t wrong.

“Need a light?” she offered, noticing the demon frowning at their own cigarillo. Then it was lit, as was Michael’s own.

Beelzebub nodded, but did not thank her. “Can't do much up here, it seemszzz.” They explained, sounding somewhat frustrated. “Makes szzense I suppose, not like our lot are wanted here.”7

“Hmm.” Michael hummed agreeably, already filing that information away. “That makes sense.”

“Anyway,” said Beelzebub, punctuating their sentence with a drag on the cigarillo, smoke billowing from their mouth as they spoke. “At leaszzzt on Earth you won’t have to see Gabriel’s szztupid face.”

Michael thought about that, took a drag, and thought about that some more.

The Prince of Hell had a point.

“I’m right,” teased Beelzebub, smirking. “You know I’m right.”

“The only thing I know is that you’re already getting drunk on my nice scotch.”

Beelzebub glared. “Am not. Don’t be szzztingy Michael, I am a gueszzzt.”

The demon’s pale face was gaining a slight flush, and their tongue seemed looser than normal so they certainly were getting drunk, but warmth bloomed lightly in Michael’s stomach as she finished her second drink, and she found herself caring more about the flashes of white teeth she could see between Beelzebub’s lips. She wondered if she could feel those teeth again, like she had last time, with her tongue.8

“You’re szzztaring,” said the demon dispassionately, though suddenly they were holding out Michael’s own bottle, offering to fill her glass, precariously holding their cigarillo and tumbler in one hand. “Am I that hideouszzz?”

Michael hummed, taking a pull off of her own cigarillo to avoid answering and letting the demon refill her glass the old fashioned way. She luxuriated in the burn of smoke in her lungs, watching the demon, eyeing their pale thin wrists, pale thin neck. Beelzebub poured clumsily, bottle clinking on the tumbler.

As she blew out smoke she said - “I was just wondering what you’d look like with a split lip.”

To their credit Beelzebub did not seem surprised - and managed to pour themselves a fourth drink without spilling. They did grin slightly, eyes focused on their drink. “I bet you'd like that,” they scoffed.

Glowing red ashes from the cigarillo fell onto Beelzebub’s fingers as they set down the bottle. They didn’t seem to notice, but Michael did.

“Waszz surpriszzed you called me,” Beelzebub continued, the alcohol definitely loosening their tongue, which suited Michael just fine. It was a perk of drinking with the enemy. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

Michael arched her brows. “What type?”

“Mmm.” Beelzebub stalled in answering. A sip and a drag. “The type to call the Prince of Hell out of nowhere because you want to fuck,” they settled on, smoke billowing out of their grin.

Michael’s lips twitched up in a dry smirk. “Presumptuous.”

The room was becoming hazy with smoke, and it was only by a small miracle that no one in the halls of Heaven could smell it. Beelzebub was clouded in it the way they were normally clouded in flies, grinning in a way that suggested that in Hell smiling had the same purpose it did for chimpanzees, teeth bared. It was rather attractive, Michael thought, or would be without the damned hat.

“Not wrong though,” they retorted.

Michael hummed. “It’s a good thing I didn’t call you earlier,” she said, airily. “I apparently wouldn’t have been able to reach you.

The demon laughed, an ugly buzzy noise. “Would have been a funny messzzage to get when I was dug up,” they chuckled. “‘Archangel Michael called, azzsked if you wanted to fuck. We told her you were Out of Office, pleazze call again in 30-45 business dayzzz.’”

Michael frowned. Something about the brutality of the image called to mind on hearing the words ‘ _dug up_ ’ jolted her slightly, her attempt at playfulness forgotten. “I would never-“

“I know, it waszz a joke.” Beelzebub rolled their eyes, and then took a deep long drag off their cigarillo, holding it and leaning forward. Then they blew the smoke directly at Michael’s face in a thick grey billow that enveloped her and made her blink and jump. When the smoke cleared from her watering eyes Beelzebub was still grinning their savage grin, sunken eyes glinting teasingly.

Heat flared in Michael’s stomach and suddenly her glass was miracled on to her desk, and her hand was grabbing Beelzebub’s face, gripping the demon’s chin with bruising force.

“Don’t be _rude_ ,” she hissed. “You’re a _guest_.”

“About time,” growled Beelzebub in response. “Been waiting for you to put your cigarette out on me or _something_.”

Michael frowned. She didn’t want to do that, she decided instantly. She knew the smell of burning flesh very well, had smelled it near constantly during the Fall and the battle afterwards. Beelzebub would like it certainly - their tastes were clearly perverse and unnatural, unlike Michael’s own tastes of course, but Michael did not want to indulge them in this regard.

And it would not make Beelzebub bleed, anyway.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said, faux-warmly, miracling an ashtray to set aside her cigarillo. “That wouldn’t be polite. You really ought to learn manners - and patience.”

The demon rolled their eyes again. “And you’re going to teach me that are you? Szzince when are you known for your patience?”

Michael tightened her grip, squeezing until the demon hissed. “I’ve been plenty patient. I was _patient_ for 6000 fucking years.”

“And look where it got you.” Beelzebub’s blue eyes were wide and taunting - only for a moment though. The next moment Michael pushed Beelzebub’s face back roughly, letting it go only so she could deliver a sharp, quick blow to the demon’s face with her other hand. Her fist made sharp contact with the demon’s cheekbone and part of their nose, the crunch of cartilage breaking under her knuckles a familiar delight. Beelzebub, caught off guard and likely slowed by alcohol, was knocked backwards into their chair, their head snapping back as they scrambled to keep from falling. Their tumbler crashed to the floor, the noise of its breaking ringing loud as glass scattered under them. They dropped the cigarillo too, and it burned their pant leg just a bit as it fell.

Beelzebub blinked at Michael as they steadied themselves, blood dripping down their nose, into their mouth. Gingerly, they reached up to dab at the blood with their pale, scrawny hand.

“Hello to you too,” they gasped. “Rude, by the way.”

Beelzebub was pretending to be put out but Michael could see under the demon’s halfhearted pretense. They were clearly aroused, enjoying it the same way they had enjoyed the throttling. She could tell, the way Beelzebub shifted in their seat, the way their eyes dilated, the way their normally hard mouth went soft. It was thrilling, observing Beelzebub’s depravity first hand, and it made Michael almost giddy with power.

“I’m not the rude one,” Michael chided. “How about you start by taking that stupid hat off? It’s rude to wear hats indoors.”

Beelzebub glared at her, but also reached up and pulled their hat off, obediently, and oh that was nice, Beelzebub obeying her. There had been a time when Michael had commanded legions of angels in battle, millennia ago. It had been the greatest glory God could have granted her - but that was millennia ago, and right now, commanding Lord Beelzebub was more satisfying than all her victories. Here she was, making the Prince of Hell, one of the most renowned insurgents to be cast from Heaven, follow her commands. It was more intoxicating than the alcohol.

Just as Michael had predicted, Beelzebub looked much better without the hat, though as the demon threw it onto the desk Michael thought she heard the hat make a disgruntled buzz - but she paid it no mind. Instead, before the demon could say anything else she was grabbing their face again, leaning in to kiss the demon’s bloodstained lips.

It didn’t last long, and Beelzebub made absolutely no effort to kiss back, though their lips were soft and pliant and Michael could feel the heat rising in their face. All the same Michael found she liked it, like scotch, one of those human things she thought was alright. They thought of such strange things, like a drink that tastes like peat, or funny ways to press their skin together. When she pulled back Beelzebub’s blood was on her lips, and she took care in licking them clean, tasting the metal and smoke tang of the demon’s blood.

Beelzebub stared at Michael with a mix of confusion and hunger as she licked her lips, unconsciously mirroring the action with their own tongue. Their face was still in Michael’s firm grasp, hot and flushed - and on a whim Michael pulled the demon Prince forward, forward, until she was dragging them onto her lap, tugging at the demon’s small frame until they were straddling Michael in her office chair.

“Good demon,” she teased, her grip going just a little slack on their face. Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed - taking the opportunity to suddenly surge forward, catching Michael’s lips with sharp teeth, biting sudden and hard. The yelp Michael made in response was quite undignified, but the next second she had them pulled away, her hand gripped hard in Beelzebub’s hair. Perhaps she should have expected that response, with her goading.

Beelzebub grinned at her, lapping at the bright scarlet drops of blood they had drawn. “Juszzt wondering what you’d look like with a szzplit lip,” they mocked, unphased by the way Michael held their head in place.

“Horrible little creature!” snapped Michael, even though she couldn’t deny the way the bite made her rush with excitement. She pulled the demon’s hair more, making their head tilt back, exposing their pale neck. “You really shouldn’t test my patience.”

It was strange how lovely Beelzebub’s neck was. Nothing about a demon should be lovely, they were antithetical to the entire idea. Michael leaned in, nosing at their throat. Last time they had been together she had bitten Beelzebub here; Michael could still remember the feeling of skin breaking under her teeth and blood bursting into her mouth as she tore through veins and arteries.

“I’ll have to be more careful with you than I was last time,” mused Michael aloud, her breath puffing against the demon’s skin deliberately. “Since you cannot access your full power I imagine your corporation will be a bit more _fragile_.”

Beelzebub shivered, their whole body shuddering in Michael’s lap, not fighting back at all. Blindly their hands fumbled to grab at Michael’s lapels. “Don’t hold back on my account. I can take it.”

Michael couldn’t help but smirk, her lips just brushing the skin of Beelzebub’s throat. There was an edge of desperation in the demon’s voice that intrigued Michael, egged her on.

“That’s not the point,” she responded. “Of course you can ‘take it’, demon.” She leaned back, observing Beelzebub again, their bared neck, before letting her free hand slip up and wrap around that throat, not squeezing, just holding them. Again the demon shuddered. “But if I broke you too quickly it would spoil _my_ fun.”

Beelzebub made a choked noise, like they were stifling some groan. Smirking still, Michael let her hand slip down, running along the collar of Beelzebub’s shirt.

“Take your coat off,” she ordered, and Beelzebub hurried to obey, head still held tilted back, barely managing to stay balanced in Michael’s lap. Once they had managed it, throwing their coat in the same direction as the hat, Michael decided that they had earned her letting go of their hair, for now. Well, and with two hands she could tug open the buttons of Beelzebub’s shirt, one by one, the old fashioned way.

Pale skin stretched over bones exposed itself with every button - and skin had never been something Michael had taken the time to admire before. It had never seemed worth admiring9 but she was now entranced by the way Beelzebub’s collarbones moved under thin skin. She wanted to bite - so she did, leaning in, to the crook where their neck met collar. It was an awkward angle and area and her split lip ached at the contact, so Michael wasn’t quite able to get enough purchase to break skin, but Beelzebub jumped and gasped, the noise they made thick and aroused. Since biting was not entirely successful Michael sucked, hard enough that it would hurt, and that made Beelzebub moan, their hands grabbing at Michael’s clothes and hair.

When she pulled back to continue unbuttoning their shirt, Beelzebub’s skin was already blooming with red, and Michael was keenly aware of her own arousal, growing hotter and harder to ignore between her legs. Skin, sex, carnality - all had been things Michael had found uninteresting when compared to the upcoming Great Battle. Now there was no battle, no purpose, no rules even though they were all pretending to still follow them. Now Michael wanted to _indulge_.

She decided she didn’t want to waste time or a miracle to finish unbuttoning Beelzebub’s shirt and instead ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere. Beelzebub hissed, tugging at her hair with their relatively lesser strength, but Michael ignored them. She was instead focused on running her hands down their chest, cupping Beelzebub’s small breasts. Their skin there was the palest yet and smooth to the touch, their nipples hard and flushed. Experimentally Michael pinched one, Beelzebub squirming in their lap and tugging harder at her hair in response.

“Szztop teasing,” they hissed, voice wavering, tinged with something close to embarrassment. “Are you going to really hurt me or not?”

Michael smiled as she pinched Beelzebub’s other nipple, tugging on both of them in unison. The demon moaned softly, then immediately screwed their mouth shut again.

“What did I say about patience?” She teased, amused by the way Beelzebub squirmed.

The Lord of the Flies huffed petulantly, wrapping their hands deeper in Michael’s hair. “Patience izz a virtue which is why I don’t have any. It’s why your lot are szzo boring.”

Michael snorted, twisting at one of Beelzebub’s nipples, watching the way their mouth trembled in the effort of holding back a moan. “Am I boring you?”

“Not yet.” Beelzebub licked their lips again showily, licking up some of the blood there. “But I don’t have eternity - and I thought you wanted to work out some fruszztration. Where’s that bloodlust of yours, Archangel?”

It was probably the alcohol in her system that compelled Michael to laugh, leaning in so their faces were close, so close. Beelzebub was breathing, shallow hot breaths that puffed into Michael’s open mouth.

“Oh?” She hissed into Beelzebub’s mouth. “Do you want to bleed?”

Michael reached to her desk, and what miracled into her hand next was technically a letter opener, though Michael had never used it to open a letter in her entire existence, and for that matter almost no humans had used one like it for the past century or so. It was also quite a bit sharper than any piece of paper needed,10 so it seemed that the only thing keeping it from simply being a dagger was semantics. If questioned though Michael would be insistent that while it might be decorated to look like a small sword, it was nothing but a simple letter opener.

A letter opener she pressed threateningly to Beelzebub’s breast, smirking when they gasped at the cold metal pressing against their nipple.

“Do I have your attention now?” she asked, pressing the flat of the blade against the soft mound of Beelzebub’s breast, to see how it moved their skin.

The demon made a noise that sounded like the buzzing of flies from their throat. “Are all angels teazzses?” they groaned, so impatient.

Michael paid their complaint no mind. Delicately she turned her wrist, and the sharp saber curve of the letter opener bit into Beelzebub’s soft skin, cutting a sharp red line into their left breast - over where their corporation’s heart must be. The noise that ripped out of Beelzebub’s throat this time was a high whiny moan, and they openly rolled their hips against Michael’s lap, their hands ripping carelessly from Michael’s hair to grab the office chair itself for support. They were so close like this; Michael had never been this close with any other being, she realized.

Another cut she decided, and Michael cut a crude cross over Beelzebub’s heart, entranced by the way the blood dripped down the soft curve of their breast. Idly she ran her thumb over the center of the cross, where Beelzebub’s pale skin split the widest - all while the demon whimpered and squirmed restlessly in her lap, eyes squeezed shut. They seemed so vulnerable like this - and maybe in some ways they were, in this moment. Michael had indeed been teasing earlier about Beelzebub’s apparent fragility, but as she pressed on the cut she had inflicted she thought about just how true it was. Prince of Hell or not, they had only a fraction of their demonic power here - Beelzebub was at her mercy. Michael could discorporate them if she wanted, worse if she really wanted.

“Look at you,” she purred, letting her thumbnail catch on Beelzebub’s split skin, digging it into their wound. “How you open for me.”

“Fuck,” gasped Beelzebub, mouth agape, blue eyes barely cracked to watch Michael hurt them. “Fu-“

They didn’t finish their curse, because they were suddenly caught by Michael, leaning in to catch them in a second kiss. She wasn’t sure why she had done it, other than an unbidden desire to claim the demon’s mouth. And this time Beelzebub did respond, albeit clumsily and not exactly actively, opening their lips and moaning as Michael pressed her tongue into their mouth. It was strange still, the warm wet feel of Beelzebub’s mouth, strange but addictive. Now when Beelzebub moaned Michael could feel the noise, and found herself echoing them, just a bit.

As they kissed Michael kept her thumbnail pressing into the cut - and Michael wished she could reach into the demon’s chest, see if they had a heart in this body of theirs. She could if she wanted to, and Beelzebub wouldn’t be able to stop her even if they wanted to, even though they probably wouldn’t. Michael wouldn’t, not now at least, but as she pulled back to nip at Beelzebub’s lip she had a different idea.

“I want my fingers inside you,” she growled against Beelzebub’s lips, pushing her thumb meaningfully against the cuts she had inflicted. Beelzebub hissed and buzzed luxuriously at that, pressing into Michael’s touch, letting her kiss them again. Their hands were grabbing at Michael again, at her hair and clothes, sure to muss both.

Michael fixed her hold on the letter opener, letting the tip rest on Beelzebub’s skin, dragging it down lightly until it reached its destination, the soft dip of skin right under Beelzebub’s ribs. There she positioned her grip - and it seemed to Michael that she was moving in slow motion, angling the blade how she wanted. As she did Michael kept kissing Beelzebub deeply, slow and unhurried. She was kissing them still when she finally pushed in, swallowing most the demon’s broken cry as the letter opener pierced the soft flesh under their sternum.

“Fuck!” swore Beelzebub, tearing away from Michael’s kiss to throw back their head in agony and naked pleasure. Michael wondered if her own face looked similar, the rush of pleasure dizzying her as she penetrated Beelzebub in such a savage fashion. She could feel it, as she held the handle of the letter opener tight, she could feel the power she had over Beelzebub. She could feel it in every vibration of the blade buried in the Prince of Hell’s abdomen, in the way their hips shifted in her lap, in the tremble of their breath. It awed her, how good it felt, how right. The blade felt like an extension of herself, as her sword had in battle.

“You enjoy this,” Michael breathed, trying and failing to keep her voice scornful.

“Yezzz,” groaned Beelzebub, face open, voice lusty and honest.11“That’s right Archangel Michael, I’ll enjoy any zzsadistic horrible thing you want to do to me, juszzt let it out, your holy fury-“

Michael shut Beelzebub up, because they were going to distract her with their futile temptations, and decided the best way to do so was to shove her bloodied thumb into their mouth. Much like the kisses, Beelzebub let it happen, letting themselves be cut off mid sentence and instead eagerly lapping their own blood off of Michael’s thumb. Michael would like to gag them for real, would like to see the demon bound and gagged - but doubted they would agree to it, at least at the moment. Silencing Beelzebub like this would do for now.

With her other hand Michael grabbed the handle of the letter opener still lodged in the demon’s abdomen. It was so good, holding the demon in the end of her blade this way, but she had other plans.

“Hold still,” ordered Michael, gripping Beelzebub’s jaw to steady them, thumb still in their mouth. She didn’t wait to see if the trembling Prince of Hell would obey before tightening her grip on the blade, pulling it back and out as sharply as she had stabbed with it.

Beelzebub howled, a primal shriek tearing through them, reverberating through Michael’s hand. Micheal had of course sealed off any noise from leaving the room, but the raw shriek startled her enough that her instinct was to squash it, shoving more of her hand in and over the demon’s mouth, holding them with her angelic strength. Beelzebub did not fight the manhandling, merely whimpering as blood streamed from the deep stab wound, a river of red dripping down their pale belly, staining Michael’s own pale suit with its pools of dark crimson. They were a wreck, Michael thought, licking her lips. Beelzebub had gone slack, limbs now merely draped around Michael, eyes wide and pupils blown. A complete wreck, all for Michael.

“There,” said Michael, miracling the letter opener away from her hand. “Not getting bored now?”

Beelzebub couldn’t answer of course, but did moan thickly around the gag of Michael’s hand as Michael used her free hand to grab their thigh, lifting the demon with ease as she stood. Another miracle to clear her desk, and then she deposited Beelzebub onto the smooth white surface, taking a step back to admire her handy work.

Beelzebub was a sight; their emaciated body was covered in blood, sallow skin flushed even paler from blood loss, sweat beginning to bead on their forehead and torso. They reached out for Michael as she broke contact with them, whining pleadingly, and Michael felt another rush of power. She wanted Beelzebub to need her, to need her control. Michael wanted to know Beelzebub in a way no other being knew them, not even Satan himself. She wanted to possess Beelzebub, the same way she did her sword or her scotch.

She settled for leaning over the desk where Beelzebub lay, tracing her fingers over the bleeding stab wound as she made eye contact with them. Beelzebub gaped at them, looking distinctly _fucked_ , and it made Michael aware of her own arousal, slick and foreign between her thighs.

“Good demon,” Michael teased, remembering Beelzebub’s previous reaction to the same taunt. This time Beelzebub just moaned, arching their back to press up into Michael’s hand. So wanton, even as they were soaked in their own blood.

Finally Michael pressed her fingertips at the stab wound, trying at the split of flesh. One fingertip slipped in fairly easy, though it did produce another broken moan and convulsion from Beelzebub. It was strange, how with the demon’s reactions almost made Michael forget it was a wound she was probing with her finger. It was hot inside Beelzebub, and as she pushed in deeper Michael could feel strange textures sucking her in, soft and wet throughout. Blood was seeping past her finger and clinging thick to her hand, and if she wriggled her finger more even more blood oozed out.

“Fuck! Michael, you’re going to diszzcorporate me,” Beelzebub groaned, flopping a scrawny arm over their eyes - and based on their tone Michael was unsure if they were being figurative or literal.

“I won’t let that happen,” she assured, unsure herself if she was teasing or not. She reached out with her free hand, stroking Beelzebub’s cheek with just the very tips of her fingers. Drying blood flaked off at Michael’s touch. “I told you, that would spoil my fun.”

She twisted her hand slightly, seeing if she could fit a second finger into the wound. The wound wasn’t very wide, but she soon discovered if she pulled out the first finger and pressed the two in at once, it was easier to slip them inside. It was still a tight fit, and blood continued dripping over the both of them. Beelzebub was whimpering lustily throughout all of it, pressing into the hand on their face, chasing Michael’s touch.

“Do the thing again,” babbled Beelzebub, breathy and half unintelligible, eyes still covered, other hand blindly grasping for Michael.

“What thing?” Michael thrust her fingers deeper into the wound, and Beelzebub moaned and shook before they could answer.

“The-the lip thing. The thing with your mouth.”

Michael raised an already high brow. “Kissing?”

“Whatever, just pleazzze, Michael, pleazzze-“

Demons, Michael decided, were ridiculous. This one she would indulge though. She silenced Beelzebub’s babbling with a kiss, pulling the demon’s arm away from their face for full access. _Finally_ Beelzebub really kissed her back, desperately pressing into Michael’s mouth, moaning wantonly as their tongues and lips pressed together. The demon's lips were going cold, but the inside of their mouth was still feverishly hot.

Michael heard herself moaning, harmonizing and mixing with Beelzebub’s in their mouths, the taste of ash and scotch and blood on the demon’s tongue overwhelming her. She wanted more, more more more. Beelzebub was pinned beneath her, Michael’s hand that was not lodged in the demon’s abdomen now pinning their wrist to her desk. Beelzebub was all hers.

Roughly Michael pulled away from the kiss, Beelzebub futilely trying to follow her lips.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Michael growled, somewhat surprised at her own vulgarity, and the harshness of her own voice.

Beelzebub had no words to respond, just a desperate rattling moan that turned into a wail when Michael pulled her fingers out of the stab wound.

Michael hardly thought about it as she pressed her bloody hand to the gash, miracling all the demon’s wounds closed without a second thought. It was necessary to heal Beelzebub after all, or they really would discorporate. They were dripping sweat and getting colder by the moment, and too much hypovolemic shock was sure to cut Michael’s plans short. However she wasn’t expecting the way Beelzebub reacted, moaning and trembling as they were healed. Tears sprung to their eyes, and they shook and gasped, staring at Michael with an open, strange look on their face - and it occurred to Michael that perhaps she _should_ have thought twice about healing a demon with her holy magic. Perhaps it could harm the demon, someway or another?12

“Was that-?“ she started to ask, unsure of what she was asking exactly. Luckily Beelzebub was quick to cut them off.

“Fuck me,” they gasped, voice breathless and desperate. “Fuck me Michael pleazze-!“

And Michael figured she wouldn’t argue with that, not when Beelzebub was submitting so well for her. A quick snap of her fingers and the demon was naked, and Michael took another brief moment to observe them in all their vulnerability. Pale skin stretched tight over hip bones, below them scrawny legs, black wiry hair where their thighs met, and dark red blood staining their belly and chest.

“You’re beautiful,” she heard herself saying without really meaning to, and before Beelzebub could truly react, their watery eyes widening and face flushing, she had her hand between their legs.

The demon was soaked, dripping and throbbing as Michael stroked into the folds of their cunt, running a bloody finger delicately over their clit. Beelzebub’s entire body jerked at the touch, their eyes snapping shut and their head banging against Michael’s desk. The noise they made was caught between a moan and a sob, and Michael wanted more. Harshly, Michael grabbed the demon’s thigh with her free hand and maneuvered them how she wanted, pressing their leg up so they were spread open for her. She could hold the demon still like that too, Beelzebub almost as weak as a mortal here in Heaven.

“There we are,” Michael groaned, slipping one finger then a second into Beelzebub, their slick entrance taking them in easily, clenching hot and eager around her. “You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you? You’re so wet from me stabbing you, you’re making a mess.”

Beelzebub just moaned in response, helpless and docile, grabbing at Michael’s desk to find any type of grounding as Michael curled her fingers in, exploring this bit of flesh. They were sweating still, though their skin had gone from white to pink, drying blood painting them in browns and reds. Beelzebub’s cheeks were red too, Michael noted - and their nipples. Impulsively Michael bent down to bite them, taking one of the demon’s hard nipples between her incisors and reveling in the way it made Beelzebub squeal and clench around her. They were sensitive here - so sensitive Michael didn’t even have to draw blood to get a reaction. She still tasted it though, their blood still smeared all over them, and Michael loved the taste.

“Look at you,” she growled admiringly when she released Beelzebub’s breast, sitting back up so she could thrust her fingers deeper into them, slipping a third finger inside them easily. It was so good, the way the demon’s hot cunt squeezed her, like it wanted to pull her deeper in with every thrust. “My tamed demon.”

Beelzebub seemed past words, pale blue eyes blown- and when Michael looked into them there was something so strange about their eyes, something thoroughly inhuman about their sheen, the way they moved. Like they had insect eyes, just pretending to be human.

 _Beautiful_ , Michael thought, but did not say this time.

When she pressed her fingers in at a certain angle and curled them a certain way Beelzebub practically screamed, writhing and clenching tightly around Michael, a wild beast. With how Michael had them spread out she could see everything, the way Beelzebub’s cunt opened for her, their inner labia slick and stretched across her knuckles, their relatively neglected clit swollen and red. Licking her lips Michael let go of Beelzebub’s thigh, bruises left in her grip’s wake, and moved to rub over the nub of their clitoris with uncharacteristic gentleness. It was soft and wet- and so sensitive that her touch seemed to instantly undo the demon.

“Michael-!” They gasped, hips thrusting up into her touch, clenching so hard around Michael that her fingers ached. All she had to do was run her finger up and down and Beelzebub was crying out, calling her name. It took only a minute or two and Beelzebub was coming, squeezing their eyes shut and screaming like they were in pain as they spasmed around Michael’s hands, so wet and hot.

Michael didn’t stop. She didn’t want to yet - she had just started exploring this new sensation she could make the demon feel. Demons, they were so base, so carnal in a way angels weren’t - and it was incredible. She kept fucking Beelzebub through their orgasm and then kept going some more, until Beelzebub was shaking with overstimulation.

“ _Michael!_ ” Whined Beelzebub as they tried to squirm in her grasp, and the helpless tremor of their voice was another rush of power to the angel. A tear had leaked from one of their clenched shut eyes. “Szzo much-!”

“So this is what I need to do to torture you?” growled Michael, thrusting in hard with her fingers, thumbing the demon’s clit insistently. “I can hurt you in so many ways, but this is what has you crying for mercy? You like it though, don’t you? You’re sucking me in, glutton.”

Beelzebub whimpered and wailed and came again, pulsing around the angel’s fingers hard, so wet that it made a crude noise as they were fucked. They were dripping onto Michael’s desk, the filthy demon.

She didn’t stop until Beelzebub had well finished with their second orgasm, slumping a bit after that and sniveling weakly as they trembled with aftershocks. She had half a mind to keep going, to see how many orgasms she could really get out of the demon - but her own effort was aching for attention. So she stopped her rubbing, but kept her fingers inside the demon for a few moments more, feeling the walls of their vagina squeezing intermittently as Beelzebub gasped, catching their breath and blinking away unfallen tears. Finally Michael pulled her hand back out with a loud wet pop, and it was a mess, pink from the lewd mix of blood and vaginal fluid.

“Fuck,” panted Beelzebub after a long moment, propping themself up on their elbows, blinking as some sense returned to their face. “That-You-“

Whatever Beelzebub was trying to say Michael really didn’t care. She quickly miracled her hand clean before swooping down to silence the demon with another kiss, wrapping her grip around Beelzebub’s throat as they melted against her lips. Locked in a kiss, Michael dragged them up by their throat, wrapping her other arm around Beelzebub’s waist so she could lift them up from the desk. The demon’s arms wrapped around her for leverage, then their legs, their naked body pressed flush against Michael.

Briefly Michael felt an ache in her chest for more contact, for her own bare flesh to press against Beelzebub’s - but at the same time the strange idea of actually being _nude_ made her abandon the urge as soon as she felt it. She needed more specific contact, besides.

Making a decision, Michael miracled her office chair perfectly behind her so she could sit down, demon in her lap, still connected at the lips. She kissed Beelzebub for another moment, before shoving them back and up, giving them a second to balance themselves on their wobbly legs. Once Beelzebub had steadied, their blown out blue eyes never leaving her own, Michael leaned back in her chair, tugging her skirt up just a bit and spreading her legs.

“Come now,” she commanded. “My turn. On your knees, demon.”

It occurred to Michael that this too was a level of nakedness; and, it occurred to her as Beelzebub looked at her, that the demon had no real reason to pleasure her, and perhaps may not want to. Angels, as a rule, were not insecure, they did not doubt - but something like it gripped Michael as she awaited a response. 

Luckily she waited only a few seconds, because then Beelzebub was dropping to their knees, crawling between her legs with an absolutely _greedy_ look on their face. Of course Michael wasn’t surprised, but she still shuddered when the demon’s hands touched her thighs, pushing up her skirt further. Skirts were not actually something Michael wore often13 but she had of course made sure to wear very professional nylon stockings when she did - and when Beelzebub exposed the tops of them they let out a hoarse chuckle, before dropping their head down to bite at the line of skin they had revealed.

The noise that came out of her mouth was softer and higher than Michael wanted it to be, but it seemed to egg Beelzebub on. They growled against her flesh before biting higher, further in on the soft inner skin of Michael’s thigh, and it was all much more intense than Michael had thought it would be. She had to bite back another high, needy noise, her body moving involuntarily as her hips twisted. So that was why Beelzebub had found her touch overwhelming - but of course given the demon’s penchant for pain she supposed she shouldn’t assume they felt things the same way.

Beelzebub kept pushing her skirt up, teasing fingers under her suspenders as they did. Up and up - and they snorted in laughter when they exposed her white undergarments, their breath puffing onto the soaked-thru fabric. Michael gasped at the feel, then glared down at them, tugging at the demon’s dark hair.

“What’s funny?” She growled, and Beelzebub snickered again, their teasing breath making Michael shiver.

“Holy Michael, the Archangel,” Beelzebub sniggered against her thigh. “In soaked white pantieszz.”

Michael sneered, giving the demon’s hair a sharp tug as punishment for mocking her - then as she pulled their head back she decided that a better way to punish them was a sharp slap across the face. Beelzebub reeled briefly - and moaned wantonly, eyes glazed. Michael slapped them again, a little harder.

“Don’t get distracted, demon.”

Beelzebub shot them a lascivious grin in response, their pale cheek turning red where Michael had struck them. Then they jumped back into their work between Michael’s thighs, nose and lips pressing into the damp cotton of her underwear. Michael jumped, the sensation simultaneously overwhelming and not enough. It was incredibly new, but also dampened by the barrier of fabric, and when Beelzebub ran their tongue across wet fabric she throbbed for more. Michael’s hands gripped the demon’s wiry hair hard as she bit her lip, trying her best to keep her voice in check.

Beelzebub kept licking at her lewdly through her underwear, pressing their tongue deep, teasing Michael. The cloth was already wet, and it rubbed against Michael’s clit almost painfully, making a strange slick noise.

“You tazzste good,” mumbled the demon, voice tickling against Michael’s skin in between their teasing. “ _Holy_.”

Michael couldn’t help but groan at the words, her head rushing. She pulled Beelzebub’s hair insistently, thrusting her hips into their face.

“Why not get a better taste?” She rasped, her throat tight. She felt like she was going to burst out of this body’s skin, the intensity feeling so much more than her human corporation. It was so much, so new, so unlike anything in Heaven.

Beelzebub grinned - not where Michael could see but where she could feel, against their thigh. Then the demon slipped their hands up, under the bunched fabric of Michael’s skirt, teasingly slow, until they had a grip on her underwear. Then, just when Michael was expecting that Beelzebub was determined to take minutes removing them, they were tugging them down as rough as they could, fabric ripping slightly as they tugged it down her thighs. Then they were off and Michael was exposed - and Beelzebub’s face buried itself greedily between her thighs as fast as they could.

Beelzebub’s tongue was soft and hot but insistent as they licked the slick off of Michael’s labia, before licking in deeper - and suddenly any hope Michael had of controlling her voice was lost. She had been aching with need this whole time, and finally Beelzebub’s sinful mouth was on her. Noises were spilling out of her as the demon tasted her, licking so deep inside. Noises - and words too.

“Yes,” she was moaning, voice not like she had ever heard it before. Beelzebub’s hot tongue was stroking her clit, licking up with the flat of their tongue, over and over, like they were tasting her. “Yes, _yes-_!”

The demon groaned against them, a deep greedy noise in the back of their throat, and the noise vibrated into Michael’s skin, making her actually whine. Michael was lost in sensation. It felt so good, so overwhelmingly, powerfully _good_.  
Beelzebub’s hands were on her thighs, gripping tight, nails digging in and leaving red marks on her flesh, slight stings of pain only heightening her pleasure.

Down dipped Beelzebub’s tongue, pressing deep again, tasting inside of her, making more greedy noises that Michael couldn’t hear over her own cries, but could certainly feel. And when she cracked her eyes open and looked down - there was Beelzebub, naked and kneeling, eyes closed as they licked her deep, reverently. They were ravenous, relentless. It felt like being worshiped. It felt like being devoured.

Their tongue moved back up next, rubbing back over Michael’s swollen clitoris, and Michael yelped, her hands grabbing hard at Beelzebub’s hair, pulling their face harder into her cunt, rocking her hips with need. It was so intense, but at the same time Michael needed more, craved the demon deeper.

“Yes,” she was still babbling, as she ground her hips down against the demon’s tongue. “Yes, you make me feel so good, yes right there-“

Beelzebub was lapping hard at her clit, trying to match the rhythm of Michael’s hips, but it still wasn’t enough. She wanted something inside her, but she didn’t want the demon’s tongue to leave her clitoris.

“Your finger,” she managed to gasp out, hands pulling at Beelzebub’s hair like it was the reins of a horse. “Give me a finger.”

Hearing her own voice in such a state, barely even able to give commands, was terribly embarrassing, but as soon as Beelzebub obeyed all thoughts of shame vanished. Yes, that was what she needed, the demon’s finger curling inside of her, tongue on her clit. As soon as the demon pushed inside her she started throbbing deep inside her body, and as Beelzebub moaned against her, thrusting in, Michael felt as if she lost control of her body. She convulsed, like the victim of an exorcism, and then her mind was going blank. It was like only her physical form existed - and she realized she was tipping over the edge of orgasm in an incredible wave, coming hard as she cried out and trembled, every muscle in her body tight.

Underneath her Beelzebub’s growled, low and deep as Michael’s cunt throbbed, and attached their mouth to her clit, sucking it, making Michael shout wordlessly. She was spasming so hard, squeezing the finger inside her - and she had never felt so much in her entire existence.

She didn’t know how long her orgasm lasted, but it felt like it was impossibly long. She just kept shaking and crying out and _feeling_. Then, as quickly as it had come on, all the tension left Michael’s body and she slumped back in her chair, gasping heavily. She was left with her brain spinning, and her body slack, spasming slightly as receding waves of sensation pulsed through her.

Beelzebub kept working their mouth against her as Michael recovered, even when they pulled their finger out, until the sensation was overwhelming and Michael pulled the demon back by their hair. The sight of their face, flushed and wet, glazed eyes looking up at Michael, made another aftershock of pleasure pulse through her. She felt powerful, she felt in control. All the things she didn’t feel much anymore in Heaven. Beelzebub looked pleased as well, licking their swollen lips with satisfaction as they grinned up at Michael.

The hand in Beelzebub’s hair went soft, going from gripping to caressing, and Michael found herself smiling down at the demon. Neither spoke. Then Michael leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes close for a moment, letting herself indulge in the feeling of relaxed satisfaction a moment longer.

“I suppose I ought to sober the both of us up,” Michael mused aloud, not in any particular rush. Her hand was still tangled in the demon’s hair, soft and gentle, and she did not have to remove it as long as she was under the effects of alcohol.

“M’fine,” mumbled the demon from between her legs, cheek resting lightly on Michael’s thigh. “You already did when you healed me.”

Michael blinked her eyes open to peer at Beelzebub again. Had she sobered them up already? She hadn’t meant to, but perhaps in healing them she had removed any toxic substances as well. There was a niggling feeling in the back of Michael’s mind that she ought to be embarrassed, being drunk while the demon was sober, but she ignored it for now. Instead she just shrugged, and let her eyes close again, luxuriating for just another moment before sobering herself up. It was a simple enough trick,14 but left Michael feeling a bit dry in the mouth and eyes. She cleared her throat and pushed her chair back, breaking contact with the demon, trying to pretend she didn’t miss their warmth as soon as she did. Her head was clear now, so there was no reason for her to entertain such silly thoughts.

As her wits returned to her, Michael looked around her office, taking in the state they had left it in. Her white desk was stained with blood and other fluids, her floor a mess of broken glass and ashes, and across the room piled onto her white loveseat was everything she had miracled out of the way, including all of Beelzebub’s clothes. It was a mess, and in the middle of it there they were. Michael beamed, delighted.

“Feel better?”

Michael’s attention was drawn back to the demon on their floor, and it was so very nice to see the bloodstained, naked Prince of Hell still kneeling at their feet that she barely processed their question.

“Hmm. What?”

“I azzzked if you feel better, birdbrain.” Beelzebub rolled their eyes, leaning back casually, balancing themself with a palm pressed to the floor, the angle exposing a new, attractive angle of their body. “You were all wound up when you called. Feel better?”

“Oh. Yes, quite.” Michael felt so much better that she had somewhat forgotten the anger that had initiated her calling the demon. Well, it was still there, she had not actually _forgotten_ that she was going to be sent to Earth - but it was no longer front of mind. “And you?”

Beelzebub snorted and rolled their eyes again and did not answer. Michael decided not to dwell on it, not to dwell on why they would even ask a demon such a question, or for that matter why a demon would ask her such a question. Instead she just closed her eyes and stretched, still strangely aware of the muscles of her corporation and how loose they felt. It was nice, not as nice as the orgasm itself, but nicer than Michael had known her body could feel. Then when she finished her luxurious stretch she opened her eyes, straightened, and waved her hand to begin setting things right. A few seconds later and Michael’s office and its inhabitants were free of bloodstains or mess, and both of them were fully dressed again, not a thread out of place. Even Beelzebub’s ridiculous hat was back on their head. The demon huffed slightly, and tugged at the hat, pulling it firmer on their head with a buzz before beginning to stand.

“I should be getting back to the office,” Beelzebub drawled as they pushed themselves upright, arms braced on their knees. “The paperwork izzz probably piling up in my absence already.”

“No rest for the wicked?”

“Ha ha.”

Michael hummed, looking the demon up and down again. It was strange, seeing them clothed like nothing had happened. Strange, but exciting, secret knowledge only Michael had. Like when she had started spying on hell, but different. Very different.

“Well, if you ever need to get out of the office for a bit again, you’ll know where to find me,” she said, her eyes glancing down meaningfully before looking back at the demon. The Prince of Hell looked at her with an expression that betrayed nothing, and then shrugged casually.

“We’ll see. Everyone managed while I waszzz buried, so I supposzze they can manage if I pop out for some air now and again.”

Michael fought back a smirk. “Quite. Shall I send you back?”

“I would appreciate it.”

Michael picked up her phone, touching a few buttons before waving her hand to perform the miracle. It only took a second or two for the demon to be sucked into the phone, to be safely teleported back to Hell. She watched the screen for a second or two more, watching as the phone call disconnected.15

Then, once again, Michael was alone in Heaven.

* * *

1 Gabriel had tried this once before in the 19th century when he decided Michael was “overstepping guidelines” and “speaking out of turn”- had made a big show about promoting Aziraphale, only to decide against it at the last minute. She had thought, since that incident, that it wouldn’t happen again. She was, apparently, wrong.^

2 When Gabriel said things like ‘our way,’ what he really meant was ‘his way’. He said ‘our way’ because that made it sound like his decisions were backed up by all of Heaven, maybe even God Herself. It drove Michael crazy.^

3 Beelzebub’s number was mostly sixes and a few arcane symbols in languages unavailable on most keyboards.^

4 Though Michael had bothered a few times recently, in private, since her encounter with Beelzebub. Just to see what all the fuss was about.^

5 It was a bottle of Bowmore single malt she had picked up from Earth in 1916. About one third of it was gone, because Michael only drank from it when she knew Gabriel wouldn’t catch her.^

6 That was a lie.^

7 No demon had been sure demons could even be in Heaven until they sent a disposable lackey up there to deliver Hellfire. It had been a tad anticlimactic when he reported back that it was fine, no burning or anything - needs redecorating though.^

8 Unlike with demons, there wasn’t anything considered wrong with angel’s kissing, but that didn’t mean any of them did it. Michael certainly never had, unless you counted last time with Beelzebub, which she did not. She was pretty sure she could figure it out though, if she wanted.^

9 Technically all of God’s inventions were worthy of admiration, etc etc - But Michael had always been a bit more about smiting things rather than admiring them.^

10 Not to mention the elaborate decorations, gold handle inlaid with mother of pearl and engraved with the Enochian symbol of Archangel Michael, making the whole thing honestly border on painfully narcissistic.^

11 Michael was beginning to wonder if there was something about sex that made it difficult to lie. It would be strategically convenient if true, but the theory required far more testing.^

12 The thing about the physiology of angels and demons is that no angel or demon fully grasps their own make up, much less the other’s. Angels, roughly, are beings made of holy energy, and demons are beings made of infernal energy, their bodies little more than temporary vessels of flesh - but ask them to explain it more than that and you are likely to encounter a good bit of hemming and hawing.^

13 Mostly for practicality, as Michael did have an affinity for human clothes, particularly the nice, pretty ones. Gowns were lovely, but so hard to fight in. She compromised with a tasteful amount of ruffles on her suits.^

14 So simple that it hardly counted as a miracle.^

15 For a moment Michael considered sending a text confirming Beelzebub’s arrival, but demon’s were all still using landlines - and that would make it seem like she cared anyway. She didn’t.^

**Author's Note:**

> FULL WARNING LIST: Features punching, slapping, knifeplay feat. cutting and stabbing, wound fingering, heavy blood play and discussion but no depiction of burning (with a cigar) and evisceration. I think that’s everything. 
> 
> ***  
> Title is from All the Good Girls Go to Hell by Billie Eilish, because of course it is. 
> 
> I do have a third fic planned for this but I haven’t started it yet so if anyone has anything they want to see in this very weird series let me know. If anyone likes this besides my fiancée, let me know in the comments.


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